


Blackout

by i_gaze_at_scully



Series: Movie night [3]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-09-06 20:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16839643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_gaze_at_scully/pseuds/i_gaze_at_scully
Summary: A movie night, a drinking game, a power outage.





	Blackout

_There’s nothing like cracking open a beer after nearly having your head chopped off._

Arkansas is a blip on the landscape below and Scully watches the storm brew from above. Even from up here, especially from up here, it is clearly a force to be reckoned with. She respects it as she respects the sea. She does not appreciate the turbulent landing. 

There is a symphony outside her window: rain on glass, the distinct sound of cars on a wet road. The melody usually soothes her, but she paces, anything but soothed. She sits down at the coffee table with a bottle of nail polish and tries to push the events of last night from her mind with little success. A peal of thunder makes her jump, and the lightning that follows leaves sinister imprints of her apartment behind her eyes in its wake.

_Calm down, Dana_. She gets up and busies herself preparing for a blackout. Again. She rechecks the batteries in all of her flashlights, makes sure the bathtub is still filled with water, relocates the candles. As her fingers brush against the waxy coating of the candles, she shudders, remembering Pfaster. Before she knows it, Pandora’s box opens and she comes to grips with all the mortal fear she’s lived the last two years. She flashes back to her most recent brush with death, her wide-eyed panic at the bonfire. She slams her eyes shut, slams the lid back down. 

Maybe a glass of wine would help. Scully walks to the kitchen but is intercepted by a knock at the door. Almost imperceptible against the wind and rain, but she hears it, and she knows who it is. The only person it would be at this hour. Through the peephole, she is happy to see a rain-soaked Mulder with a six-pack and a VHS under his arm.

“You gonna let me in, Scully?”

She ducks out of the way as he enters, dripping all over her floors. She crosses her arms, suppressing a smile.

“Before you give me heat about getting your floors wet,” he says, reading her mind, “look what I got.” He proudly holds out the six pack and video tape. 

“ _The Exorcist_!” She feels her shoulders drop, a tension releasing that she didn’t realize was there. 

“Your favorite right? I already have a few rules in mind—hey where’s your bottle opener again?” He carefully hangs his raincoat on the hook while she rifles through her silverware drawer for a bottle opener

“Rule number one,” he says. “Drink every time someone curses.”

“Mulder, that’s half the movie. You only brought one six pack.”

“Okay, fine. Drink every time the power of Christ compels you to?”

Scully rolls her eyes, opening their beers and relishing in the sound. There’s nothing like cracking open a beer after nearly having your head chopped off, she thinks somewhat morbidly.

Their movie nights had dwindled before her abduction. But after she was returned, all she wanted was her life back. The normalcy Duane Barry stole from them was slowly being restored, movie by movie, six pack by six pack. Most nights they sit in companionable silence until the movie ends and one of them takes a cab home; it’s their normal, and she’s come to enjoy it, depend on it even. She dims the lights and the drink to the familiar whir of the VCR. 

“What brings you over?” They usually agreed on movie nights ahead of time. She isn’t complaining about the spontaneity, but she wonders if something else was going on.

“I lost power. There’s only so much fun you can have by yourself in the dark, you know.” She can hear him waggling his eyebrows at her. The VCR clicks and they settle in comfortably.

Without warning, the TV switches off with a static hum. The sound of all Scully’s appliances shutting down reverberates for a moment around the apartment, fading into silence.

“Shit,” Scully groans, and Mulder finishes his beer.

“Power’s out,” he states matter-of-factly. “Rule number six, finish your beer.”

“I don’t remember that one, Mulder,” Scully insists, but drinks anyway. She fumbles around in the dark for a second, grabbing two flashlights from the dresser and bringing them back to the couch. 

“Mulder!” she protests half-heartedly as he takes his and wiggles the light in her eyes. As she finishes her beer, she holds up the empty bottle at an angle with one eyebrow arched. For the second time tonight, Mulder reads her mind. 

“A classy lady like you has to have a bottle of wine on hand somewhere, yes?” She directs him with her flashlight, first to the cabinet where the wine is and next to the drawer where the corkscrew is.

“Glasses?” He asks. More flashlight pointing. She giggles as she misdirects him first, darting the light back and forth and watching as he follows it like a cat. Her laughter bubbles out of her, leaving her lighter for it. Damn it feels good to be light.

“Up for a game of checkers?” She proposes.

“Checkers? Really?” He returns with the glasses and she takes hers, sipping before he even sits.

“Well I’m certainly not in the right frame of mind for chess, luckily for you.”

“Oh, lucky for me? I’m gonna remember that,” he smirks. She watches the wine touch his lips and wonders if his teeth stain red like hers do. She wonders if he feels as woozy as she does.

“What else do I have?” She asks aloud, moving to check the cabinet where she keeps her board games. Risk, chess, checkers, a deck of cards, and Pictionary. Well she’s far too drunk for Risk or Pictionary. She brings over the checkers and deck of cards.

“Hm,” he mumbles into his wine. “My vote is strip poker.”

“I don’t recall that option.” Her heart flutters in spite of herself. She drinks.

He shrugs in the dark. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

No, she can’t. She studies the silhouette of her partner, her friend, carefully pointing her flashlight at her feet. She admires the effortlessness he exudes, knowing that still waters run deep. He can pierce her soul with a look, calm her with a touch. He knows her. And she knows him.

“Okay,” she declares.

“Okay?” He can’t hide the incredulity in his voice and a smile sneaks across her face. She called his bluff. She’d make a killing in poker, but she’s still in favor of checkers.

“Strip checkers,” she says, sliding to the floor. “My rules though. You accept a dare each time your piece is claimed, or you strip.”

“So what? Strip truth or dare checkers?“ Mulder laughs, sliding to the floor too, a little less gracefully than she had. “I’m game.” 

What feels like hours later, they are light, so light, and with each belly laugh she is more appreciative of the darkness that brought him here. To her credit, she is nearly fully clothed. He’s the one sitting in nothing but his jeans. He takes more pieces, but she takes more dares. Her first dare was to profess her belief, convincingly, in Big Foot (he wanted it in writing; she declined). Recently she forwent losing her shirt in favor of speaking in a Scottish accent for the rest of the night. Mulder lost his own shirt the very next round, refusing to sing _I’m a Little Teapot_ for her, dance included. 

Finally, however, the winner is crowned.

“Mulderrrr,” she whines, abandoning the accent as he knocks her last little round checker off the board.

“Rules are rules, Scully,” he gloats.

She sighs and stumbles into her bedroom. She emerges defiantly wearing a bra on her head, as dared, and Mulder falls over onto his side laughing. She watches him and can’t help but burst out laughing too.

“Scully,” he says, rolling onto his back on the floor when the laughter subsides.

“Yeah Mulder?”

“I’m really drunk.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You are too!”

“Yes, I am.”

He pokes her side and she huffs. She has no way of knowing the time, but it has be late at this point. She doesn’t want him going back to his place, especially not in the storm.

“Can I crash here tonight?” He asks, and she wonders if she’s been speaking her thoughts aloud all night, the way he seems to predict what she’s thinking.

“Of course. Although I feel like the couch might be a bit more comfortable than your current spot,” she teases. He lets his eyes drift shut and smiles goofily at her. The rain pitter-patters quietly now in the background, the worst of the storm having passed.


End file.
